Lucifer Sam
by cyndrarae
Summary: Preseries. Life and times of Sam Winchester, with a little help from Pink Floyd.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Lucifer Sam **  
**Characters**: Sam, Dean, John  
**Rating**: **PG-13 **for language  
**Summary**: Life and times of Sam Winchester, with a little help from Pink Floyd.  
**Author Notes**: First SPN fic, seems like been writing this for ages. Should have two more chapters, this week hopefully. (Or will change my name from Rachel to WIP-el glares at self)

**Sam (Broken Bow, Nebraska)**

Sammy is four years old. He loves fruit loops, loves driving his tricycle round and round in circles, and Doctor Seuss. He is pretty sure he loves his brother too. He knows this because every morning when Dean drops him off at pre-school he feels his chest tighten like he wants to cry. And it doesn't go away until Dean picks him up few hours later. He is not so sure about his dad though, the man's not around so much.

Sometimes Sammy dreams of a woman with hair as bright as sunshine and wonders who she is. Mrs Stewart at his play school is a woman too, but her hair isn't yellow. Its not all black either, has spots of white here and there. Sammy wonders what that color is called.

One day in September, Dean doesn't come to pick him up. He waits with Mrs Stewart for an hour, that's how long it takes for the big hand to come back to twelve again. And still no Dean. His throat is aching now and his lower lip quivers. Biting it doesn't help, only makes his jaw hurt more. But he is not going to cry, dad wont be happy if he did.

"Do you want to be a big boy Sammy?"

Sammy isn't quite sure what that means, so he says the one thing he knows his dad likes to hear.

"Yes sir."

"Like Dean?"

The little face brightens up, Dean he understands.

"Yes sir, I do!"

And wins a smile from John Winchester in return.

"Well, big boys don't cry Sammy. You ever see Dean cry?"

That he could honestly shake his head to. He sometimes wonders why his eyes often get teary but Dean's never do. And Sammy wants to be big and strong like Dean, he really does.

So he sits, quietly, without fidgeting besides Mrs Stewart. And watches the big hand ever so slowly move back down to six. What could possibly be wrong?

Did… did Dean forget him?

Uh-oh, that didn't help. His lip is quivering painfully again.

Footsteps to his right. Heavy, like hiking boots and he knows who it is. He slides down his seat and before Mrs Stewart can say "Sam wait!" he is already running towards the two approaching grownups.

"Daddy!"

Sammy wraps himself around the nearest leg and a firm hand lands on his little head.

"Daddy Dean forgot to take me home."

Sammy is pouting, not happy at his brother's horrible betrayal but nobody is listening to him. They go on rattling in loud, fast-too-fast words about eight year olds ("Hey, I'm four!") and too much responsibility ("Re-pon-si what?") and social services.

Sammy's mouth opens in an o-shape but no sound is made. Social services. He's heard that one before. Guess it was time to move again huh?

By the time they get home, Sammy's chest is hurting more than he ever thought possible. John didn't say a word all the way, his lips pressed together like when he's just about starting to get sick of Sammy playing his new drum set. And he obviously doesn't care that Dean forgot to pick him up.

When they drive up, Dean is standing at the doorway, his elbows straight and his hands gripping each other tightly. He comes to the truck to open Sammy's door and Sammy is prepared with his bestest glare, 'How dare you?', it says. Lip sticking out just the way he knows will make Dean do whatever he asks for.

Dean reaches out, grips Sammy under his arms, pulls him out of the truck… and sets him down on the ground! Turns back to close the truck door and all this while, doesn't even look at him!

"What happened Dad?"

And now Dean follows their father back inside, not even bothering to see if Sammy is trailing after him or not. Which of course he is, as he always does, but that's not the point. Hello to you too, brother.

Sammy wonders if he turned invisible like the Whos and that's why maybe his family doesn't know he is right here. Why else would they keep saying Sammy this and Sammy that without actually _talking_ to him?

After awhile its pretty obvious, even to a four year old, that he wasn't needed. Sammy quietly slips into the bedroom he and Dean share and sits on his bed, dangling his feet. That's when he notices them… the bags and the boxes.

So they _are_ moving again.

A snivel escapes but he stops the next, and the one after that. His chest hurts, but he wasn't going to cry because daddy wont like it. He knows the truth now.

His family is planning to leave him behind when they move this time.

Last time they moved, they left his play tent and tunnel back in Michigan. And before that his racing car bed in Ohio. Maybe he got too big to fit in the truck too.

"Sammy?"

Sammy has his head between his hands and lowered to his knees when Dean finds him.

He hears his big brother do that thing when he breathes in so deep it comes out in a big gush, like a baby wind.

"Sammy I'm sorry. The principal called dad and wouldn't let me leave to come get you."

Sammy doesn't reply. Just raises his head to look at his brother. Dean always gets this look in his eyes when he's fooling around. But its not there now.

Dean sits beside him, his feet don't dangle though, and he looks straight ahead.

"I'm not doing so well in class. Am not smart like you kiddo."

That's… that's impossible. Dean is the smartest person Sammy knows. He always has answers to all his questions, even when dad doesn't have any.

"Don't make excuses."

Dean frowns. He hardly ever frowns. "What?"

Sammy gulps. "You didn't come because, you didn't want to."

"Sammy no, that's not true."

And this time Sammy cant hold the sobs, he needs to let go or his chest might just burst.

"Why cant you take me along?"

"What?"

Dean gets up and kneels before him.

"I saw the boxes, you've already packed everything. You and dad were going to take off and leave me behind with Mrs. Stewart!"

And the tears start in earnest. He doesn't care anymore if he's being a little boy. He doesn't care snot is running down his nose.

"I will be good! And I wont take too much space. Please take me along Dean, please??"

Through the water in his eyes he cant see the look of devastation on his big brother's face.

"Sammy! How could you even think that we'll leave you behind?"

He snivels, wipes at his nose and lips.

"So… you're not?"

Dean is so loud he wants to cover his ears. "NO dufus! Never ever ever!!"

That should make him feel better, right? Why does he just want to cry some more? His voice is reduced to a whisper, so low Sammy can barely hear himself speak.

"Then, why didn't you come for me?"

**Dean (Broken Bow, Nebraska)**

Dean is eight years old, and has the weight of the world on his little shoulders. Okay, maybe not the _whole_ world. Sammy is his world. And he bears the burden more than happily because while the kid can be a pain in the ass sometimes, he still is his baby brother. Ever since… since mom, he's felt responsible. And its not like anyone ever specifically told him to. He just knew in his heart that this is what he's meant to do.

He dreams of her often you know. That's more than one night a month, he's been counting. And in his dream she kisses his forehead, brushes his longish hair back from his forehead. Watch out for Sammy, she says.

His dad is his world also. And while John Winchester is a proud, strong man and a doting father to his sons, he isn't the most dependable man when it comes buying milk or doing laundry or cleaning up like mom used to. So, Dean does it. Helps out in every way possible. If only to get that one benign look that softens his dad's face. Makes the shadows go away, if only for a little while.

"My boy, what would I do without you?"

Dean lives for those words. And for those smiles. On his dad's and his brother's faces.

"Then, why didn't you come for me?"

Sammy isn't smiling right now. God, he's miserable. How the hell does a four year old assume his family would just up and abandon him?

"Shit, Sammy…"

Its all about patterns, his dad says. Of course Dean knows that's in a completely different context. But it sorta applies doesn't it? A pattern was broken today, Dean's always there and today he wasn't. And given the level of paranoia that practically bleeds out of their father and into them every single day…

Dean knows what to do. Its what mom used to do. Or dad sometimes does even now when Sammy gets fussy.

He stands up and gathers the four year old into his arms. Pulls him up from the bed until Sammy remembers the drill and wraps his little legs around Dean's waist and little arms around his neck. Buries his face in the shoulder and quietly cries his heart out.

"Shh… I'm sorry I couldn't make it. Never again okay?"

He rubs the trembling back through the thick green jacket. Something pricks behind his eyes so he squeezes them shut for awhile, just long enough to make it go away.

"I'm never going to leave you, you hear me Sammy?"

The sobbing is muffled but still there. Dean rocks from side to side.

"I promise. Pinkie swear."

Sammy just grips him tighter, like he still doesn't believe.

"Hush Sammy. Don't cry. Don't cry."

Sammy tries, he really does.

"Come on kiddo, don't make me sing please?"

At that, a scrunched up face looks up. Hazel eyes as wide and woeful as… oh, Dean doesn't know… a lost puppy?

Dean knows that look. Dean _dreads_ that look.

Rolls his eyes and pushes the little head back into his shoulder.

"Deeeeaaaaaaan!"

"Okay okay… which one?"

Sammy looks up again. Suspiciously.

"You don't sing so good."

"I do too!"

Sammy just shrugs. Dean can see he's giving it a serious thought.

"Row your boat?"

Aargh. No way. Dean shakes his head apologetically.

"Umm, spider song?"

"Okay. Spider man, spider man, does whatever a spider can…"

"Not that spider song! The itsy bitsy one."

Oh. _Hell_ no.

Dean may be eight, but he's got taste. He's got a boombox and cassette tapes his parents were once massively into back when… when mom wouldn't do the dishes unless there was music playing, and Dean often caught his parents dancing and kissing (gross!) in the kitchen. Of course, dad doesn't go near those tapes anymore.

Sammy is fidgeting again. Rests his head back on the larger shoulder in resignation.

"Its okay if you don't want to."

Dean rolls his eyes up towards heaven and lets out a big sigh.

"Hey, how about Lucifer Sam?"

The wet face brightens up big time. "Cool!"

Dean has to smile at that. Gently wipes away the tear tracks and keeps rocking.

Starts humming a catchy little ditty, one he found on one of Mary's old tapes and has his little brother enthralled for weeks now. Sammy loves this quirky Pink Floyd number almost as much as Dean does. Something about a cat called Sam.

"Tada dum! tum tum tum tum…"

Something that makes absolutely no sense.

_Lucifer Sam, siam cat.  
Always sitting by your side  
Always by your side.  
That cat's something I can't explain…_

The snivels are history, Sammy is relaxed and a complete deadweight in his brother's arms. But Dean needs him animated, smiling… the smile he lives for. A purely selfish need really.

"Dude help me out with the guitar here."

"Tada dum! Tum tum tum tum…"

"C'mon Sammy…"

"Tada dum! Tum tum tum tum…"

"Yeahh!"

Sammy smiles, Dean rocks.

_Ginger, ginger, Jennifer Gentle you're a witch.  
You're the left side  
He's the right side.  
Oh, no!  
_

Sammy loves the 'Oh, no!' He puts his hands on each cheek for it every time. And Dean laughs every time.

His chest is unclenched at last. His restless mind finally at peace. So what if they're moving again. As long as he and Sammy are together, they are going to be just fine.

_That cat's something I cant explain!_

(tbc)   
Lucifer Sam is a psychedelic rock masterpiece by Pink Floyd, released 1967. You can find it here: So uhh, what do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Lucifer Sam  
Characters:** Sam, Dean, John  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language  
**Summary:** Life and times of Sam Winchester, with a little help from Pink Floyd.  
**Author Notes:** Just wanted to point out a couple of things - 1, The year is 1993, pre-cellphone era. And 2, I started this before S2 so some things are not in sync with canon. Should be one more chapter to go. Lucifer Sam is a psychedelic rock masterpiece by Pink Floyd, released 1967. You can find it here (if ff doesnt delete it that is): hxxp :// 

**Sam (Blue Earth, Minnesota)**

Sammy is ten years old. He loves crosswords, cheeseburgers, and books. He also loves soccer but wasn't allowed by dad to join the school team. What's the point anyway? Its not like they stayed in one school for more than six months.

He is small for his age, and it doesn't help that Dean grew like a weed all of last year. Doesn't help at all that big brother also likes to tease.

"Eat up Thumbelina."

Sam pulls a face, angry and sulking and decidedly unhappy. One, he hates wheaties. Two, no way is he listening to Dean after _that_. And three, they were going to do it to him again.

"C'mon Sammy, don't be yourself this early in the day. Pastor Jim's going to be here any minute now."

"Its Sam."

He bites back, gets up and walks away, to the couch by the window... the only one in their newest, claustrophobic motel room. Dean is too busy cleaning up for a minute to notice, when he does, he sighs. Dumps the dishrag and walks over. Kneels by the sofa so he and Sam are at eye level.

"Its only for a couple of days."

"…"

Dean licks his lips, a habit Sam thinks isn't about to go away easy. Gets up and walks to the dresser, pulls something out and comes back. Sam pretends not to be the least bit interested.

"I got these books for ya. From that shop with the closing sale? All seconds for a buck."

He says with a grin on his face. Sam glares at him.

"I know. I _told_ you about it. You said we couldn't afford to spend any more bucks this week."

Dean gets this… blank look on his face that makes Sam nervous. It's the look he gets when he is trying very hard not to be angry, or worried or… scared? No. No way dude, Sam tells himself. Dean doesn't do scared.

"Yeah well, figured we'd get by."

Dean goes back to smiling at him so expectantly. Sam sighs, then gruffly takes the brown bag from Dean's hands and pulls out three second-hand paperbacks. Looks at the titles briefly before Dean tries again.

"Thought you might like those. So you don't have to sit through Jim's boring sermons again huh?"

That reminds him, and the fury is back full flare. He throws the books aside carelessly.

"I've read all of 'em."

Dean frowns. He frowns a lot of late. His brother figured long ago that Sammy was at a very advanced level of reading but hey, still…

"You kidding me? I had Steinbeck this year in class and couldn't finish it!"

Sam scowls back. "I _know_. I saw your grades."

Now Dean is definitely pissed. He gets up, walking back to finish the dishes.

"Alright Mr. Smarty Pants. Return those books and get what you want. I'm sorry I tried."

He has his back to Sam, and doesn't see the pangs of guilt beginning to melt his baby brother's displaced rage.

Day two. Funk.

Sam finds the remotest corner of the farthest pew in Pastor Jim's church and reads. Words of the Lord stopped meaning too much to him ever since he was six and asked dad why they didn't have a mother. Words of George Orwell… now that's a different story. He feels miserably for the way he last spoke to Dean. He's actually not read two of the three books Dean got for him.

He's still upset of course. Getting left behind while his family goes hunting month after month after _freakin_ month gets old fast you know. He wishes he wasn't so midgety and didn't suck so much at bow hunting. He wishes his dad believed him when he says he can follow orders, he can he can! He wishes he could be there to stop stupid ghosts scratchin' his brother's face, leaving scars that last for weeks.

He wishes he wasn't so damn scared all the time.

Oh, what the he… heck. (Hello, church?) Two days. Chill, Sam tells himself, they'll back tonight.

Day three. Anger.

Sam paces the length of Pastor Jim's parish back and forth.

"Where are they?"

"Its okay Sammy."

Its Sam and no its _not _okay, he wants to yell. But he doesn't. He refuses to believe Dean couldn't find a single phone booth all along the way from Iowa to Minnesota. That kind of thoughtlessness is expected from _John_ but not Dean, not his brother Dean.

He falls asleep reading 1984. Dreams of Big Brother who looks way too much like dad, and Dean is strapped to the torture device in Room 101 surrounded by stinkin, rotting corpses. He wakes up screaming but doesn't let Pastor Jim anywhere near him.

Day four. Fear.

No word still. Sam sneaks into the church when he thinks Pastor Jim isn't watching. He may not be much of a believer. But he is his father's trustee research assistant. He speaks more Latin than Dean and John put together, and he's the only one who knows where the library is in every new town. Sam kneels before the cross and whispers Pater Nostri in its original form over and over and over again.

Pastor Jim carefully picks up the sleeping child in his arms and tucks him into bed. Sam would later surmise this to be a very bad move altogether because the nightmares return with vengeance.

This time its him strapped to the chair, and the rats… oh god they're everywhere. War is peace. Ignorance is strength. Freedom is slavery. Words so profound and… twisted… no ten year old is expected to comprehend and yet he does. But its Sam screaming "Do it to Dean!" that wakes him up thrashing and clawing for dear life.

Pastor Jim is not allowed to touch him of course.

Day five. Remorse.

Samuel Winchester. You're such a fucking selfish bastard, he tells himself over and over again. To hell with Pastor Jim and his church.

Sam hasn't slept in two days. Guilt eats away at his very core and his heart beats so hard he thinks it would explode from the inside out. There is the familiar tightening in his chest and throat he's been pushing down for days. And there is something new as well… a relentless, desperate need… no, craving, to punch something. And to keep punching and kicking and hitting hard so hard until something is dead… until the physical pain becomes so huge it dwarfs the terrible ache he feels inside.

He needs to see his big brother again. So he can say he's sorry. That he didn't mean to snap at him. That he loves him. And he needs him and dad to be safe, oh God. He is sorry he swore. He needs his family back, God please.

Please.

Please.

Sam doesn't remember when or how he manages it. A deep, dark sleep or unconsciousness overcomes him with thankfully no more nightmares… one he wishes he never ever has to wake up from again.

**Dean (Newton, Iowa)**

Dean's been hunting since he turned ten. Well, technically not _hunting_ hunting since he didn't personally kill anything supernatural before. But Dean's been patient, he knew his time would come. And when it did, it was the second most horrific moment of his young life.

They went in prepared to kill one zombie, not a whole pack of them. A schoolbus with the local high school hockey team had crashed, killing all but one. The lone survivor lost it and resurrected his best friend through some voodoo craft he found in his dead grandma's closet. Eventually the zombie guy killed the kid (some gratitude) and dug up more of his undead friends who'd been having a bloodfest ever since.

Dean wasn't even supposed to leave the car, all he had to do was wait. Wait… for his dad to finish the job and return so they could drive back to the parish and pick up Sammy. For once, Dean did not follow a direct order.

He paces the length of the waiting room while doctors work to stitch up his damaged father. A kind orderly tries to talk to him but at fourteen years of age, Dean's already perfected the art of freezing people out.

"That was a mean shot you took back there."

It's the first thing dad says when he wakes up at last.

Dean appreciates the rare praise but feels no elation. Tries hard to not look away from John's pale face, and not burst out wailing like he was four. This is why he hates hospitals. He swallows down a giant lump of terror of what could have happened (but didn't damn it!), and nods. Dad's alright, dad's still here, that's all that matters.

"We'll talk about your insubordination later."

That's just great. Dean needs a change of topic, now.

"Doctors say they'll let you go in a couple of days."

John scowls and sits up. "Screw that. Lets get out of here now."

Dean stands up worried. "But dad…"

"You call up Sammy?"

Oh. Shit.

"Uhh with everything that happened, I…"

"Its okay son. Find my clothes and then go make the call. Your brother must be climbing the walls by now."

Its after midnight when Pastor Jim picks up the phone and tells Dean he doesn't want to disturb Sammy. Seems the kid was sleeping peacefully for the first time since they left him behind. Alarm bells go off in the back of his mind but there's nothing he can do sitting in another state.

Dean is allowed to drive his dad's shiny new Impala and man is it a sweet ride or what. Ordinarily John would worry about cops and such but its dark and he's wrecked and in no position to drive himself.

Its early morning when they reach the parish and Dean heads straight to Sammy's room. The dark circles under his eyes and beads of cold sweat signify more than any words possibly could.

"Sammy, hey, wake up."

"…"

Dean pushes the unruly bangs back from Sammy's forehead and lightly scratches behind an ear.

"Sammyyyyyyy…"

Dean knows this resistance to come around, hell it runs in the family. So thick he could fire a consecrated iron round through it and nothing would budge. He sighs and decides to let him sleep. Just as he straightens up and turns toward the door, Sam stirs.

"Dean?"

He turns back around and sits back down beside Sammy on the bed.

"Here kiddo."

Sammy opens his eyes, squints because even the subtle light of dawn hurts.

"You're back."

"Excellent observation."

Sam sighs, averts his eyes, not ready to face his brother yet.

"How did it go?"

"The usual. Buck shots meet zombies, happy ending for one and all."

Dean feels the urge to let loose, pour his heart out to someone about everything – the fear, the horror of seeing dad hurt… both the thrill and the _numbness_ he felt towards his very first kill. But he doesn't. If John has his way, Sammy would know it all himself soon enough. Too soon, if you ask Dean. But for now, he is not prepared to burden his ten year old brother with the bizarre brutalities of their abnormal lives.

Instead he looks away too, at the book lying open, stem up on the floor. He smirks.

"So what did you think?"

"About what…"

Dean picks up the book and shows it to Sammy. "1984?"

Nothing… absolutely nothing could have possibly prepared him for what follows next. Dean watches helplessly as something snaps, no, shatters inside his baby brother and the jade of his eyes turns into pitch black before overfilling with hot water.

"You bastard!"

Stubborn fists crash into his chest over and over again as Dean grabs the trembling shoulders trying to calm Sammy down.

"Get away from me! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Sammy? Hey hey… whats wrong?"

"Whats wrong? WHAT'S WRONG?"

And Sammy is kicking and squirming to get off the bed but Dean is in the way and no way is he letting go. He pulls the boy up against his chest and holds on tight, freaking out beyond reason himself.

"I hate you! How could you…??"

"Shhh… Sammy, shhhh…."

Dean knows what to do. Its not often he's needed to do this, but he's been practically raising the boy all these years. He envelopes Sammy into himself tight and rocks.

Back and forth, back and forth.

"Its okay, its okay… I'm here now, its okay."

He feels the sobs reverberating right through him, Sam hasn't been this hysterical since… shit, since he was four and thought Dean and dad were going to leave him behind in Nebraska.

His chest tightens, twice in 24 hours damnit! His family is driving him out of his _freakin_ mind. Buries his face, his quivering lip in the soft chestnut hair and shuts his eyes tight. Maybe this was the curse of their family… not the thing that killed their mom, and not dad's obsession with the supernatural. It is _this_… this willingness to wrecklessly endanger one's life without thinking what it would do to the people left behind.

Sammy is still crying hard, too hard, and Dean can only hold him and rock harder.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I should have called. I messed up."

He feels Sammy twisting to rest his right cheek on his chest and Dean wipes at the tear tracks on the left one.

"Please forgive me?"

A small hand yanking at the lapel of his jacket now settles, playing with the buttons instead. Sammy tries to control the sobs by biting his lower lip.

"Don't do that. Its okay." Dean rubs a thumb across the abused lip and Sam blushes, turns his head the other way.

"I just… want you to… to stop ditching me."

Dean sighs, just glad at least Sammy is talking amid the hiccups and the tears. He rubs the small back and the curled up figure in his lap slowly relaxes.

"This gig was too dangerous Sammy."

"Yeah, and I'm a liability."

Dean shakes him a little. The bitterness in the young boy's voice is heartbreaking.

"Don't use big words you don't completely understand."

Sammy huffs, rolls his eyes thinking Dean wouldn't see it. Dean smiles.

"Okay, don't use big words that _I_ don't understand."

Sammy tries to hide his little smile in Dean's jacket again. But his face is still wet.

"If only… if I was bigger…"

"Hey…"

Dean pulls him off his chest so he can look him in the eye.

"You will be Sam. You'll be bigger and stronger and _smarter_ than me _and_ dad, just gotta have patience okay?"

Sammy nods, not convinced and buries his head back in Dean's chest. Wipes at the new tears in his eyes.

"Then… then I wont be such a wuss right?"

"You're not a wuss. You're the bravest kid I know."

"I'm the _only_ kid you know."

Dean laughs his short, abrupt laugh.

"You know being scared… its not such a bad thing."

Sammy doesn't even know what to say to that, but to Dean his body language is conveying a clear 'Huh?'

"I get scared too Sammy. All the time. Think its what keeps me sharp. It's the fear that makes us plan and prepare before going into a hunt. The fear keeps us alive."

"So… its okay to have fears?"

"Yep. So long as you're not afraid to face 'em."

Sammy looks up at that with a broken look on his face Dean doesn't recognize… doesn't _want_ to recognize.

"I don't know if I can do it Dean…"

Dean knows what's coming and wants him to not say it, wants to shut Sam up.

"I don't know if I can live like this… wondering if today's the last day I'm ever gonna see you and dad alive."

Dean's face hardens, he wishes he could turn his heart to stone as well. How many times have those exact words almost escaped his lips… almost, but never did?

They came this close to losing dad today. The pain he went through, he doesn't want Sam to ever have to experience that. He's just glad Sammy doesn't really know what it feels like to lose a mom… not the way Dean feels her loss, not the way Dean misses her.

And that's why, Dean knows there is absolutely nothing left to say.

Its six years later, and he cant promise Sammy he would never leave him.

Not anymore.

Sammy leans against him once again and Dean keeps rubbing his baby brother's back rhythmically until he hears a soft small sigh.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Dean smiles. "You had good reason. Dad got hurt and I just stopped thinking strai…"

"Dad got hurt?"

Sammy is stunned and worried and tries to get off his lap.

"Nothing serious, don't worry. But he needs to rest right now, you can see him when he wakes up okay?"

"No I wanna see him now."

So Dean lets him go, regretting the decision immediately. Its been like, forever since Sammy let Dean hold him close. Honestly Dean didn't know himself that he'd missed this so much, up until fifteen minutes ago. He quickly shakes himself out of the disgustingly girly moment he's just had and follows Sammy as he runs out to find John.

**John (Blue Earth, Minnesota)**

John Winchester doesn't say much. Like, ever. But its not because he doesn't want to, its because he doesn't know _how_ to. No words could possibly do justice to the darkness of his thoughts… the gravity of his pain. He worries his boys would hate their father once they grow up. He worries his boys wouldn't understand why he does what he does.

Dean probably would, John tells himself. Dean was there. Dean saw his father break, and tries so very hard to put him back together, every single day.

But Sammy is different, not like Dean. Don't get John wrong, he loves Sammy. More than he could ever convey to the little boy. And he is sure he loves his dad back as well. But he wonders if Sammy would ever be able to forgive him. If he would ever understand that once you've been touched by true evil, you can never really escape it. You could either let it win – and slowly wither away and die, marred by grief and loss for eternity. Or you could stand up and fight, fight for your dignity and your sanity.

John Winchester has made his choice. And he knows that while he may not eventually win, but he sure isn't gonna make it easy for them sons of bitches.

It is with a heavy heart but definite sense of accomplishment (clearing out a bunch of nasty zombies is no minor feat) that John finally closes his eyes. Falls into a medicated sleep so deep he doesn't hear Sammy sniveling miserably, hesitantly holding on to his unbroken hand. Doesn't see Dean quietly embracing him from behind and pulling him away from his side.

Evening comes and John finally pulls himself out of bed, there's work to be done, he reminds himself. Things to take care of. He cannot afford the luxury of rest any longer.

"Jimmy, where are the boys?"

Jim looks up from his book, shakes his head and takes his glasses off.

"What did you do to deserve kids like that John, I wonder."

John smirks. "I know an insult when I get one."

Pastor Jim stands up and surreptitiously checks his friend out for red flags health-wise.

"Sammy's had a rough couple of days. Thank God for Dean though…"

And the men smile. John is sure he couldn't possibly be prouder.

"Yeah, thank God for Dean."

John scours the length and breath of the parish with no success. Just when he's starting to get a little worried, he hears a sound not necessarily common even for an American religious establishment. Smiling, he limps out to the garage where they parked the Impala, but stays out of sight.

The car doors are open and Mary's tape of greatest hits blares out of the stereo.

There's Dean and there's Sammy wearing their two bucks apiece sunglasses, strumming the imaginary guitars in their hands with extreme seriousness.

"Ta da dum! Tum tum tum tum…"

"Ta da dum! Tum tum tum tum…"

Sammy is laughing. He is wearing Dean's leather jacket three sizes too big, headbanging and rocking back on one foot behind then one in front. John thinks he totally looks the classic rockstar in every way except, well, the being ten part.

The music's too loud, the boys are louder and as Pastor, Jim should be doing more than just pretending to be entirely deaf and blind.

"Play it Sammy!"

"Ta da dum! Tum tum tum tum…"

"YEAHHH!!"

John smiles, actually chuckles, but tries to hold it in not wanting to interrupt his boys. One more day couldn't possibly hurt. The warm bed seems to get more and more enticing with every step that he gets closer to it.

_At night prowling sifting sand.  
Hiding around on the ground.  
He'll be found when you're around.  
_

Everything's okay. Dean's got it.

_That cat's something I can't explain!_

(tbc)  
Let me know what you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Lucifer Sam  
Characters:** Sam, Dean, John, OCs  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language  
**Summary:** Life and times of Sam Winchester, with a little help from Pink Floyd.   
**Author Notes:** This is the last part - not wee!Winchesters anymore. I wrote it because I wanted to read it, I guess. Do let me know what you think? And oh, the song can be found on youtube. I give up.. please search for it 'cos ff wont let me post it here (sigh)

**Sam (Clarkesville, Georgia)**

Sam is seventeen. He doesn't like cheeseburgers any more, make him nauseous. He tries to eat healthy even when they end up eating at the greasiest of diners more often than not. He doesn't have much time for books or puzzles and such anymore.

He gave his SATs this year and scored a perfect 1600. Applied to a total of three universities only because that's about all his savings allowed him to. Of course if he'd just asked Dean he'd have given him the money to apply to more. But that would have involved actually _telling_ Dean that he was planning to go to college. He knows Dean wouldn't approve. Okay maybe he would eventually, hell might even be proud (maybe). But he sure as hell wont like it.

Today's the most exhilarating day of his life. He got accepted to Stanford! And on a full ride no less. Sam is bursting with excitement and wishes he could share his happiness with someone but there is no one. He has no friends and his family isn't going to be throwing him a Going away party anytime soon.

Maybe day after, he thinks, when dad leaves for Roswell. Yes, Sunday, he's going to tell Dean. He cant wait for Sunday.

Friday night should be a fun night for teenagers like Sam. But in this family the idea of 'fun' is so twisted, he'd rather just stay home and read or sleep or watch crappy tv. Not that he actually has a home. They haven't stayed in one place for more than a year, and just this once in Montana for a couple. It hurt, so much, to leave his friends (and Lizzie) behind that he just stopped bothering to socialize after that. Unlike his brother of course, who seems to get hitched to a new girl every week, and actually has a hyperactive social life.

Sam narrows his eyes as Dean stumbles in, happily high on life and other liquid intoxicants sometime after one am. He sighs, stubbornly squashing the pang of resentment that rips through him. Not because he wants to be like Dean, _hell _no. Sam stopped wanting to be like his big brother years ago.

He resents because there was a time when… when Sam was the sole center of attention in Dean's eyes. And he knows its childish and totally immature and downright selfish.

But once upon a time, it was Sam and Dean together against the world, against everything and everyone else. Then somewhere down the line, it became Dean and John against Sam, Dean and John against everything Sam ever wanted, dreamed of, and hoped for from life.

What changed Dean? Sam wants to ask. But he has a feeling he already knows the answer to that one. Sam started questioning their dad and this _fucked up _life, that's what happened. Dean on the other hand continues to be the good son, following orders on blind faith like a perfect little soldier. To raise a voice against dad is sacrilege in his brother's book, didn't matter none that Sam might actually have a valid point now and then.

All Sam wants is normal… what is so fucking wrong with that?

Dean flops down on the bed next to him, sleeping on his stomach like he always does. He has his head turned away from Sam. The younger brother sighs, wondering if maybe he should wake him up. Now's as good a time as any to break it to Dean. But their dad may be back any time now, he's off investigating the manticore lore in this town.

"Something you wanna say to me Sammy?"

Sam almost jumps. Dean's face is still turned away, his voice slurry and sleepy. Sam wonders how is it that his brother always seems to know when he has something on his mind. He bites his lip.

"Go to sleep Dean, we'll talk in the morning."

Dean turns his way then. "So there _is_ something."

Its never been easy keeping secrets from Dean. Sam opens his mouth, but just then Dean's cellphone rings. Dean sees the number and is sober in an instant.

"Dad?"

It's a hunt. The brothers prep fast as they can and rush out to the Impala.

"Manticore on the loose. Its lured the detectives on the Burton murder case into the woods."

"How did it do that?"

Dean looks at Sam briefly, blankly, before turning back to the road.

"He didn't say."

Sam is pissed. "Why don't you ever ask him this stuff? It could be important you know."

"There's no time Sammy, we gotta get there NOW."

Sam scowls but keeps his mouth shut as they speed toward the forest.

John is farther away apparently, so its upto Sam and Dean to protect the two detectives. The manticore attacked and killed Professor Burton of the local university, and going after the detectives on the case only implies someone human is controlling the supernatural beast. The boys have a way of stopping it - silver bullets to the heart. But they only have till sunrise to finish this thing because in daylight the manticore will disappear and who knows where it resurfaces next.

It's a tough fight, as always, but eventually the manticore comes in range and Dean takes the shot. Right before five pairs of eyes, the beast morphs into a lifeless _human_ form. Now nobody was expecting _that_. Nobody that is, except dad.

"Sam hold on."

Its Dean, concerned as always but Sam isn't listening. Slowly he gets closer then crouches next to the figure, turns it over. Its one of the college students they had interviewed earlier in the day. Sam is stunned.

"Its Nathan Hefner."

The guy he spoke to not eight hours ago. The living, breathing, cheerful guy who, Sam thought was, actually really cool. He turns to his dad frowning, disturbed.

"You knew it was him? All this time?"

John doesn't bother to respond. Turns to talk to the detectives to initiate damage control but doesn't get very far.

"When were you planning on telling us? If at all?"

John is pissed now. "What is your problem son?"

Dean mediates, or tries to. "C'mon guys its no big deal."

Sam carries on like he didn't hear his brother at all.

"My problem is your attitude dad! You keeping secrets from us. Leaving us hangin' on a need to know basis. What the hell's your problem with us?!?"

Dean tries again, as quietly as possible to keep his family feud from the 'civilians'.

"There was no time Sammy and you know that. Stop being a bitch about this."

Sammy feels no such compunction. "Sure Dean, right after YOU stop being HIS bitch!"

Silence.

John charges like he's about to sucker punch his youngest son but Dean's firm hand right in the center of his chest stops him. He turns away, disappointed or not… Sam really doesn't care. He's too furious and frustrated and at the end of his tether himself to think straight. But takes one look at his brother's face and it slowly dawns on him.

Dean doesn't say a word, just looks at him with a dullness Sam has never seen in his eyes before. He has a sinking feeling he's taken things way too far this time.

His chest tightens, a frantic urge to fall to his knees threatens to overcome him but it doesn't. Sam turns on his heels to get as far away from the others as possible… far away from his fucked up family… from that broken look in his brother's eyes.

**Dean (Oconee forests, Georgia)**

Sammy is waiting in the car when Dean gets to it minutes later. He wasn't expecting to see him still around, but maybe Sam decided it was too much of a hassle to hitchhike back to town at this hour.

Dean doesn't look at him. Whoever came up with that saying about sticks and stones obviously didn't have a family like his. Hah, Dean reminds himself, _nobody_ has a family like his.

Gets into the driver's seat and guns the engine. He sees the detectives and John heading over to their respective vehicles and knows dad wont be coming back tonight.

"I'll see you in Richardson."

And that's all he'd said. Dean knows even his father needs to get away now and then, and he is allowed to. Dean wonders when and where he turned his own life into a fucking prison.

Fifteen minutes or so pass before Sam reaches out and turns down the music.

"Hey Dean…"

"…"

"Man, I'm sorry. I…"

Dean can hear the sincerity in Sam's voice but he isn't stupid. Saying sorry will not make it go away this time. This time, _it_ is here to stay.

"I just… man how can you do it? How can you just sit there and take orders from the guy like we were stupid little kids?"

"…"

Dean has a freakishly good memory, probably 'cause they've had a freakishly… freaky life? He remembers the day Sammy spoke his very first word. How he'd squealed himself in excitement and how happy his folks had been.

After mom, every new word that came out of Sammy's little mouth made John smile one moment and sad the next. Every new word, every baby step that Mary missed…

Dean is pulled back from his thoughts by a growling six foot three who, sadly, isn't that baby brother of his anymore. Right now, Dean thinks he isn't so kicked Sammy learnt to talk at all.

"Why couldn't he just tell us?"

Dean knows Sam needs answers.

"He figured it out only an hour ago himself. The Hefner family has had one male in each generation with the ability to transform into a manticore. That's why these unsolved murders date back to the 1800s when their ancestors migrated to the States."

Sam is skeptical, but their dad has never been wrong so far.

"They weren't all killers though right? There's only been like six cases in nearly two hundred years."

Dean had had a conversation with John and the detectives just before heading to the car.

"Yeah, they could control it. Manticores are not like werewolves, they're maneaters but not compulsive killers. The Hefners probably killed only when they wanted to. Opportunistic killers Sam. That's worse."

Sam still doesn't want to believe, but he has no argument left. Looks out the window and shakes his head.

"There might have been another way…"

"He killed his professor over a _grade_ Sammy. That's about as cold blooded as anyone can get."

Dean knows what's bothering his brother. He had waited in the sidelines while Sam spoke to Nathan for a long time. Had caught bits and pieces from the small talk they were making, something Sam was pretty damn good at (and Dean sucked at). And it was all about how fantastic Palo Alto is. And how Sam is making the right choice, that he wont regret it.

Sammy had seemed somehow… _taken_ by the geeky college boy. That's the sort of role model Dean couldn't possibly be for his little brother. Ironically enough, that's exactly the kind Sam's needed all this time.

Dean makes a sharp right, nearly missing the exit.

After another five minutes, Sam turns back toward him, still hellbent on getting his brother on his side against dad.

"Okay so Hefner was evil and he deserved it. But it still doesn't explain why dad is such a jerk to us. He keeps things from us like we wouldn't know what to do with…"

"You've been keeping things from us too Sam."

Dean hadn't planned for it to come out like that. But now it has, and Sam doesn't know what to say. He swallows, Dean catches his bobbing Adam's apple in his peripheral vision.

"I don't know what you're…"

"At least dad doesn't lie to me."

Sam shuts up, looks straight ahead, clearly on edge. Dean never could stand his baby brother's discomfort for too long, unless of course _he_ was _intending_ to cause it.

"I saw your acceptance letter."

More silence follows. Thickens until Dean is forced to turn the volume up again. A minute later Sam turns it back down.

"How?"

"Was stickin' out of your physics book."

"I was going to tell you…"

"Sure."

"Believe me I…"

"Save it."

You obviously don't need to know what I think, Dean wants to say, but he doesn't wanna be called a bitch (to his face) again. Once a night is plenty enough.

"Just let me know when, so I can stop making breakfast for three."

Sam huffs.

"What do you care man? You love this life! You got your dream car, your dream job. A new chick to fuck and dump every week. What difference will it make to you if I stay or leave huh?"

"…"

Dean doesn't look at his brother, doesn't even frown. Instead he smiles. That lopsided grin of his that never reaches his eyes and he's glad its too dark for Sam to see it.

What do I care, he asks. All Dean's ever cared for more than anything or anyone else in all his life… sits there and asks him what does he care.

The drinking and the pool-hustling and the girls… this stuff wasn't something Dean aspired to when they started out. This stuff became more and more significant through the years because they allowed him to let go… of the one person who'd required his constant 24-by-7 attention not so long ago. Funny how quickly people change, Sam did. Dad did. Dean wonders what's wrong with him… because at heart, he knows he never did. He never did let go.

"Dean?"

"…"

He swallows, doesn't look at Sam. He isn't blind to his little brother's desperation to escape this life. Hell might even understand it to an extent. He wishes with all his heart he could give his baby brother the _ordinariness_ he seeks, so long as it didn't mean Sam had to leave… go so far away where Dean couldn't see him or keep him safe?

Ack, Dean rolls his limpid green eyes. Maybe he _is_ turning into a teary eyed menstruating bitch.

"Arent you going to say something?"

"…"

Dean cant deny he didn't see this coming either. Fact, its been coming for seven years.

I don't know if I can do this, Sammy had said then.

_I don't know if I can live like this… wondering if today's the last day I'm ever gonna see you and dad alive._

Now its seven years later, and Sammy has at last found a way to live in peace. And happiness. One that does not include anyone by the name of Dean Winchester.

Dean sighs. That's just fine Sammy. _Its Sam_, a ten year old's sulking voice inside his head rebukes. Dean turns up the volume to drown it out.

"Anything?"

"…"

You see… its not about Dean leaving Sammy behind anymore. Its about Sam leaving Dean, and unlike Sam, he is in no position to demand anything of his brother. He never was.

"You do what you gotta do Sam. I wont stand in your way."

And that's about all Dean can manage to say through the terrible tightening in his chest, the painful lump lodged in his throat.

**  
**

**Sam (Oconee forests, Georgia)**

"You do what you gotta do Sam. I wont stand in your way."

And that's all he says. Sam wants to grab Dean and shake him… clock him one if he thought that could make his brother talk. But Dean learnt from the very best. Sam wont get another word out of him if Dean didn't want him to.

Sam hunkers down into his seat, as far away from Dean and as close to the door of the Impala without falling out as possible. This wasn't why he decided to wait and ride with Dean. He needed to talk, hell he always needs to talk like _normal_ people and in this family that makes him a fucking freak.

Great now his chest hurts. Bites his lower lip painfully to make it stop trembling _damnit!_

Sam feels like he's nine years old again. That first time his family was leaving him behind to go on a hunting trip and there was absolutely nothing he could say or do to change his father's mind. Sam remembers the time he was twelve and Dean didn't come back home from the hunt. Instead he lay comatose in the ER for three days. Three fucking days and once again there was nothing Sammy could do or say to be allowed to stay with Dean.

So here he is again, replaying his helplessness, his repressed rage like a horrible recurring nightmare. What could he possibly say to make this okay? Nothing.

But Sam knows there is so much _Dean_ could say. So much Dean could do to make it okay, make all the hurt go away in a second like he always does. If he would just…

Sam gulps down the plaintive pleas thrashing to escape. That wasn't the Winchester way after all.

Provoking him didn't work. Of course it makes a difference to Dean if he leaves, Sammy _knows _that! But he really, really needs to hear it right now. He needs to hear his big brother say its okay (Its alright Sammy, its okay.) He needs to know Dean understands why he needs to get out before he loses his mind or kills their father or both.

Damn you John Winchester, he thinks.

_Damn you for making me choose between my brother and my sanity. _

Sam looks out his window just in time to see the body come flying towards their car.

"Look out!"

Dean swerves, partly from shock and partly to avoid the body from landing on his windshield but it does. Dean hits the brakes and the Impala comes to a screeching halt just as the body tumbles off the car and onto the road where it is illuminated by their headlights.

Its one of the detectives. And he's been mauled ferociously by some wild… oh shit.

"Didn't we…?"

"We did!"

"Then what the…?"

Sam gets his answer when a gigantic weight lands on the trunk of the car, then heads up to the roof over their heads before leaving dents on the hood and finally jumping off and turning around to face the brothers.

The manticore has the face of Nathan Hefner. And its coming towards them.

Dean gets out of the car same time that Sam does. With guns still loaded with silver bullets they open fire and keep shooting until the manticore wails in pain and runs back into the woods. They're in the middle of a deserted highway with the forest on both sides, civilization is at least an hour away. So is sunrise. Dean is pissed.

"Sonofabitch! Silver's barely slowing it down."

Dean runs to check the pulse on the detective, he's long dead.

"We gotta get out of here Dean, come back later with a plan."

Dean agrees. They start to get back into the car when they hear the scream.

"Help me!! Somebody!"

It's the second detective. Sam looks at Dean. "It's a trap."

"What?"

"He's luring us into the forest."

"What if he's not? What if Milton's out there?"

Sam knows his brother has a point, they need to check this out.

"Okay, but we're taking more weapons."

They grab a machete, crossbow, a couple of flare guns, a rifle and more silver ammo then head after the beast.

Sam's heart is racing as it always does. The adrenaline rush during a hunt always makes him forget everything but his father's training and the stubborn Winchester streak to not give in. Its when the high becomes low that his fears and regrets return to mess with his mind, but that's for later.

The boys follow the sounds of the repeated screams until they reach a clearing on top of a cliff with a steep drop to the dry ravine below. It's a crescent moon night with barely enough light to make out shapes and outlines.

Sam sniffs the air. "Do you smell that?"

Dean nods. "Fresh blood."

Sam moves toward the source of the acrid scent.

"Sammy stay next to me."

Sam is distracted, if only for a moment, inexplicably pleased that Dean called him 'Sammy'. And that is enough. The manticore jumps him.

"Sam get down!"

Dean fires, and Sam swings a machete at the beast. He barely touches it before the machete is knocked out of his hands. Four sharp claws scratch Sam in the face and neck and his shoulder feels sprained where the manticore crashed into him. Dean discards the gun (silver completely ineffective by now) and grabs it from behind. The manticore turns to attack Dean.

"Get the flare gun!"

Sam picks himself up and runs to where Dean dropped their stuff. Gropes around in the dark to find the flare gun as his brother fights the beast.

"Anytime now Sammy, this thing's… arghh… getting angrier!!"

When he finally finds the gun he turns to shoot but its too late. The manticore has vanished.

And so has his brother.

No. No. No.

"Dean!!"

Sam runs to the edge of the cliff to look down, doesn't see anything. Turns back around and scours the bushes.

Don't do this, please don't do this, Sam quietly murmurs under his breath. He stands still for a couple of seconds, holds his breath because he thinks his heart is beating too fast for him to pick on other sounds.

Gun ready in his hand, Sam turns to go back to the source of smell he'd caught. Looks for drag marks in the ground but finds none. Which means, either Dean's alive and hiding… or he went over the edge.

Oh God. Please God.

"Dean! Answer me man!"

He doesn't care if the manticore hears him and comes after him so long as it leaves his brother alone.

"Dean!!"

Walks to the other end of the clearing right next to the edge. There are giant boulders shadowed ominously by the moon and its still as death. He can feel every single hair standing at the back of his neck.

"Dean?"

He softly whispers. Suddenly a figure slides out from behind the boulders. Unfortunately the manticore also notices at the exact same time as Sam.

"Dean watch out!"

But its too late once again. The manticore roars with the elation of its eminent victory as it leaps up and Sam shoots.

The flare hits bull's eye and immediately catches on to the furry beast. But the momentum of its pounce and the shock of the fire sends it _and_ his prey careening off the edge.

"NO!!!"

Sam runs towards the edge, drops to his hands and knees and helplessly watches the two ignited bodies fall into the ravine hundred feet below. And there is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ he can do.

"Dean?? DEAN!!"

Tears fill his eyes just as all breath catches in his throat and Sam starts to hyperventilate.

This cant be happening. Desperate screams try to rent through his lungs but all he manages are hysterically hoarse sibilations.

"Dean come back! Come back please come back!"

His chest heaves with the effort its taking him to breathe.

"I'm so…so sorry! I know I've been a selfish bastard and I keep fucking up but… please… this is too much Dean! You cant punish me this way, Dean please!!"

This cant be happening. Oh God. This cant be happening. The sobs get hysterical like they haven't in seven years.

"I'll do anything you want. I wont go Dean. I'll never leave you! Please just please… I'm sorry, come back. Come back! Please…"

Please.

Please.

"Sammy…"

Sam's heart skips a beat. He jerks around, toward the boulders. A dark figure silhouetted in moonlight slowly limps out and walks toward him. Sam is too shocked to react for a few seconds. When he does, his voice is barely a whisper allowed through his painfully contracting lungs.

"You came back…"

Dean grins at him in the moonlight. Comes closer and stands looking down at Sam. Panting, shaking his head. "I never left."

Sammy exhales in incomprehensible relief. Then a frantic burst of energy and he pulls his hands off the ground where they'd clawed themselves in to wrap himself around the older man's legs.

"Dude…"

Some rational corner of his brain recognizes his brother's expression of utter indignation at the whole… _touchy-feely-ness_ but he doesn't care. Doesn't let go and cant stop trembling for what seems like ages until he hears Dean sigh, and lower himself to his knees. And then he does something Sammy had long forgotten to expect or hope for.

Dean engulfs him into a comfortingly tight embrace.

Dean was alive! Dean was okay. Dean was all around him, holding him, arranging him so he was practically sitting on his brother's lap.

"That was Milton's body, I set it up as a decoy."

Sam still cant breathe. He rests his head on the broad chest and grips the biceps hard… as if to make damn sure Dean didn't go anywhere ever again.

"I thought I killed you…"

"You saved me you big dufus. _Gawd_ you're heavy."

Sam looks up into his brother's tired eyes, and his face crumples again.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Oh Sammy."

Dean holds Sam tight against his chest, kissing the top of his head for a long time. He wonders if Dean realizes that he is gently rocking him like he used to when they were kids. Rubs his back to aid in Sam's struggled breathing.

"Breathe dude, come on… easy. Breathe. Breathe."

Gradually Sam stops hyperventilating. His sobs reduce to silent snivels before Dean's grip ceases to be borderline painful.

"Sammy, about what you said…"

Sam tenses up. Looks into Dean's eyes. Dean smiles as he wipes the tear tracks off his little brother's cheeks.

"I want you to go Sammy."

"No…"

"Listen to me. I am so… SO proud of you."

And the tears start again. Sam whimpers wishing he could hide in his brother's shirt again but Dean wont let him.

"A full ride to Stanford, that's big shit kiddo. You'd be one major dumbass if you let this chance of a lifetime pass you by."

Sam shakes his head fervently, unable to form any words. Dean takes his chin in his one good hand and forces Sam to look up into his eyes.

"All my life, all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. And safe. And if college makes you happy, then so be it. And hell Stanford cant possibly be any more dangerous than _this_."

And who's gonna save your ass when I'm gone? Sam knows better than to say that aloud.

"Screw Stanford. I'm not goin'."

Dean laughs, his short, abrupt laugh. Then speaks with a damn serious expression.

"Oh you're goin'. And that's an order."

Dean looks like he's daring Sam to challenge him. To snap back in his best whining voice, _who died and made you drill sergeant?_

Sam sighs, wipes the tears off his face and looks up. "Come with me."

"What?"

"Lets leave together Dean! Ditch this freak show of a life and start over."

Dean smiles sadly, ruffles his hair. "You know I cant do that."

Yeah, Sam knows. There was no way Dean would ever betray their dad. Not even… Sam pulls himself together, bites his lip hard… not even for _him_.

"Don't worry. You'll be fine."

Sam's voice is barely a whisper. "Its not me I'm worried about."

The rest remains unspoken but mutually understood.

Dean purses his lips, looks away. "Come on, lets get out of here."

And just like that, Dean lets him go.

Pulls away, ending the warm, rare embrace abruptly and stands up limping. Sam makes a valiant effort of hiding his disappointment and gets up as well.

This wasn't how he'd imagined his conversation about college with Dean to go. Sammy never realized he'd be willing to give up all his dreams for his brother. But now he knows he would, absolutely would… in a heartbeat. Only now, the tables have turned.

Dean was not going to let him.

**Dean (Oconee district, Georgia)**

Sammy sits curled up in his seat but this time he doesn't look like he's trying to get as far away from Dean as possible. He trailed behind him all the way from the woods to the car like a frightened overgrown puppy, but Dean knows what he was doing. Checking him out for life threatening injuries, subconsciously reaching out to touch him whenever he thought he could get away with it.

A hand surreptitiously reaches up now and again to wipe at his face. His fingers keep gripping each other tight like he's afraid what they'd do if he let them loose. Sudden tremors jolt his form once in a while. Dean turns up the heating, what else is he supposed to do?

I cant make it better this time Sammy, he thinks. Thought giving Sam his approval to go to college would do it, but in hindsight Dean guesses the timing was all wrong. He shouldn't have waited until _after_ Sam saw him having a near-death experience because now he's having doubts. Turns up the radio this time.

Sam looks at him once in a while then quickly turns away. This one time, he swallows hard.

"I don't…"

"You will."

"But I…"

"Don't wanna hear it."

A soft whimper escapes before Sam clamps down and turns away. Dean wishes he could do more to comfort his miserable little brother but what?

His hand makes it halfway to the slightly shivering shoulder then drops. Dean wonders when exactly did it become so hard (read: unacceptable) for him to… _gawd_… he used to do it all the time. Maybe it was after being told off by dad a hundred thousand times (_Stop babying him Dean, he's got to learn._) Or maybe it was after Sam started withdrawing into himself as he grew older.

Maybe the habit of hiding his pain from his family eventually bled out and expanded till Dean was left incapable of ever showing any emotion whatsoever.

Dean rolls his eyes, this family is fucking driving him out of his mind _damnit_! The next time Sammy's hand comes up, Dean reaches out for the stereo and switches to tape mode. Sam notices, doesn't say a word.

"Shotgun night."

Dean offers gallantly, expects a snide remark in response. But gets nothing. Dean sighs, then takes out one of the older cassette tapes he's been religiously preserving for seventeen years. Mary's collection of greatest hits starts off with a rare Janis Joplin, unplugged. It makes Sammy smile (though sadly), and Dean feels like a weight's been lifted off his chest.

By the time they reach the motel, Sammy is fast asleep and Dean is cautious not to wake him up. Leaves the heater and music on as he goes in to gather their stuff. When he returns, Sam is still peacefully out. Dean presses rewind on the last number like he's been doing for the last forty miles or so and drives on.

_Lucifer Sam go to sea.  
Be a hip cat, be a ship's cat.  
Somewhere, anywhere.  
That cat's something I can't explain.  
_

Go to sea… huh. No wonder Sammy's always liked this weirdass number so much.

Someday, Dean thinks, maybe Sammy would return to him and say, hey, turns out normal isn't all its cracked up to be after all. _Ah hell_. Rewinds again.

He looks at his sleeping brother, so skinny and lanky, all sharp angles and gangly limbs and muses not for the first time that Sam sure could use more meat on his bones. Maybe Stanford would give him a better life, the life he deserves.

While Dean may not have chosen this mercenary life for himself, its what he's now fully committed to with all his heart, body and soul. But he's not gonna let anyone, not even dad, force it down his little brother's throat.

He can imagine it already – Sammy lugging out his stuff from the Chevy, giving Dean his classic apologetic shrug and equally apologetic smile before turning his back to Dean and walking away (not forever, not forever damnit!)

Yes. Dean dreads the day he would have to take his little brother to Palo Alto. Dean sighs, looks out at the early, placid sunrise. He thinks to himself maybe he'll let Sammy drive his baby just that once after all.

_Lucifer Sam, siam cat.  
Always sitting by your side  
Always by your side.  
That cat's something I can't explain!_

Smiles, his shit-eating lopsided grin, steps on it. Then again, maybe not.

**END**


End file.
